I’m crying.  I’m stranded

here in the naked cavity

            of computer chips

     and unwarranted aggression

with battles left raging

             over centuries

with the tribes duking it out

             over honor and pride

       fucking the mythic queen

        and hearing the persecution

    my actions of lust

             start World War III

and all eyes focus on me

I sit here crying

         with the knowledge

                   of my sin

           and yes it matters

                     as cities are bombed

   and toddlers are slaughtered

          in eyesight of mothers

              with gay guys necking

            and macho studs

raping beauty pageant winners

and the rampant drug abuse

        of urban dwellers

           in neon radiation

         the X-ray contamination

           the pure water

 and the urban sewage

              breeding rats and roaches

        the factory assembled

                     perfect human robots

designed to eat and shit

             just once a week

and follow all orders

            without hesitation

   and the humdrum

          of machinery

                   endless echo

faltering of the trees

        as squalid and pale

            all faces turn

        eyes looking outward

           lip service paid

          to my best interests

            but ethnic cleansing

              and war Holocaust

         of any people

(they got to get rid

of anyone that’s different

          ensure a squeaky

             clean America

without drugs or minorities

         of urban decay

worship at the altar

           of Patrick Buchanan

   & denounce

        all our freedoms

what we need them for?
          and I’m still

        just sitting here

             lonely bedroom

Van Morrison singing

            love songs

      on the radio

and I’m crying

wallowing in self pity

        and waxing poetic

      trying desperately

    to find my way

       out of this mess


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allets's picture

Pat B

My idol I adulate him for speaking and defending all things ignorant. How, I ask the poet, can we be righteous  without  Mr. Bucanan as our antithetical example, our nemisis! Everything else in the poem we can dish :D




georgeschaefer's picture

He's still a dumbass fool

He's still a dumbass fool after all these decades